


Anything to See You Smile

by Voodoosgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Good Boyfriend Steve Rogers, Humor, Implied Bottom Bucky, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post Infinity War Snap Reversal because I'm hopeful, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Top Steve Rogers, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voodoosgirl/pseuds/Voodoosgirl
Summary: Rocket's ability to pick up on social cues is hampered by the Asgardian Ale. Bucky gets a little revenge. Steve...well he's just glad he's got Bucky back.





	Anything to See You Smile

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be for Valentine's Day. I'm a bit behind! 
> 
> My undying gratitude to Pambot3000 for her sisterly support, fanatical love of all things Stucky and her world-class GIF finding skills keeping me on the lighter side of my angst-driven ways. ♥♥♥

“Special delivery.”  
  
Steve looking down. She looking up. No-nonsense kind of lady standing on the wood-slatted front porch, blonde pony-tailed hair tucked wayward under a ball cap. His guarded glance head to toe, shooting back to her face with her irritated cough. Serum enhanced memory serving Steve: Hot pink muck boots, smudges of brown, reasonable replication of artistic renderings vaguely resembling horses. A spot or two appearing unrecognizable. Steve being astute, putting one and one and one together, figuring out the added sludge wasn’t mud. Giving points for old fashioned creativity, one boot sole held on with a tight wrap of silver duct tape.  
  
Her assessing him right damn back; long look over the top of wire rim glasses. The phrase, “Young man,” forming in her eyes if not her mouth. Steve being a savvy individual keeping the “Yes, Ma’m" to himself, despite their matching age.  
  
Her striding back to her motorcycle, abrupt wave of a hand, irreverent salute, “Have a fine day Mr. Smith,” called over her shoulder. Amused “I’m keeping your secret” laughter underlining her you-don’t-fool-me mirth. Gravel plunking at his feet as she gunned it down their winding, supposedly secluded driveway.  
  
Steve carrying the delivery with the utmost trepidation, fingertips gripping light to the tiniest of corners. Minuscule movements, gentle deposit in the center of the kitchen island. Reminiscent of a bomb squad’s handling of a suspicious package sans the rolling robot. And groin protection gear.  
  
One red envelope, black lettering, “Mr. Steve “Cap” Rogers Plus One” the font a festive yet precise Comic Sans MS. A pristine heart drawn around his name, delicate and decorative. The counterpoint an arrow, wide-lined black sharpie added in a separate hand, the shaky line entering one rounded curve of the heart coming out the bottom to end in a decisive stabbing of “Plus One.”  
  
“Nice,” muttering drawl, Bucky standing in the corner of the kitchen, arms crossed, thumbs tight wound in Steve’s pilfered sweatshirt. Bare toes curling one foot over the other, gaze not budging from the card laid ominous and sweat-inducing a mere few feet away. “My dance card’s full, Stevie. I need to clean my guns. Again. Please don’t make me go.”

<3<3<3

  
Rocket says it five plus one times a day whenever his path crosses Buckys'. Varied pitch and tone, mixing the words front to back; ranging queries from long dissertations masked as rhetorical to short and sweet highwayman demands, all boiling down to the same unrelenting question, “How much for the arm?”  
  
Asking, begging, pleading, bargaining, Rocket losing his trademark shit-together demeanor on an embarrassingly frequent basis; it starts as sincere, morphs to a joke, wandering up to a level of serious that makes Bucky question Rocket’s sanity. He never once gets an answer beyond a stare that verges as far Winter as Bucky is comfortable without triggering his own flashbacks.  
  
This particular public debacle set in the deceptively decadent living room of Stark’s Facility in Upstate New York, a party to celebrate friends and family brought home. Red décor of festive hearts, the Day having deeper meaning after the fight beyond all others; souls lost, believed forever, reunited now against all odds.  
  
Bucky’s first ever social event in the presence of the Avengers, dragged reticent apprehensive by Steve’s unrelenting grip, discreet release a nanosecond before all eyes turned to greet the pair. Vaguely awkward mingling, Bucky never roaming far from Steve’s possessive eye; his final capitulation to attend qualified by his soft-spoken request, “Don’t leave me alone.”  
  
Answered with the hands he’d known his whole life wrapping entangled in his hair, foreheads pressed reassuring. Steve’s breath close, memory flooding taste, and smell and gut, tension going weak. The sex they’d shared hours earlier wrapping comfort around his wariness; words spoken quiet and fierce, “Never, never again. Never.”  
  
  
The gathering rolling forward, social politeness ruling all encounters, Bucky remaining glued to Steve; gum stuck to his shoe, a fly’s willing embrace of a sticky surface, static clinging, cat hair on black clothing. Energy projecting deepest fear, losing him again.  
  
Steve matching that fear with his own determination, not allowing Bucky more than three inches away, questions asked silent with a look, words not needed, “Are you safe? Can I help? I died inside when you fell a second time.” Bucky’s answer, slight curve of his mouth, hinting the smile Steve would know, years shared, his meaning clear and evident, “I’ll be fine, as long as I’m with you.”  
  
Music thumping upbeat, subliminal support; laughter free-flowing, jabbing banter telling the story, grateful reunions, grudges and squabbles put to bed at least for the night. Steve and Bucky staking their claim a square of the carpet, letting the flow of the crowd come to them. Guard dropping a hair, third round of warm greetings fueled by a flask of Asgardian Ale.  
  
Honed pilfering skills giving Rocket the advantage, getting more than his fair share of Thor’s circulating flask. Discretion thrown out the window, his daring fueled by free-flowing alcohol, Rocket stalking Barnes in earnest. Circling approach closing ever tighter, Bucky’s hyper-awareness serving a purpose; Rogers protection not circumvented by the raccoon’s Errol Flynn move of swinging from the suspended lamp drop-shipped by Ikea.  
  
Rocket’s wild-flying lunge, growling scream included, a profoundly regretful move in the 20-20 of retrospection. Futile attempt to steal the arm right from Bucky’s shoulder, four clawed feet scampering desperate against vibranium. Deft move by the duo to send the assailant sailing across the room. The whole unseemly event ending with the wide-eyed, silent staring of the crowd and the body of a genetically altered hybrid-raccoon lying sprawled snout-down on the crystal coffee table.  
  
Steve and Bucky using the debacle as their cue to exit the scene. Steve’s hands wrapping Bucky’s hips tight protective grip. Tin-foil covered plates of food an offering as they shuffled towards the door. Steve shaking his head “No” Bucky reaching for the food, awkward stumbling together, gentle laughter across the room. Pepper pressing four dishes in Bucky’s hands, single metal finger yielding to anxiety’s demands, one plate a nudged return. Her confusion morphing to a smile as he muttered, gaze averted, “Threes only. Thanks.”  
  
  
Quiet ride home, Steve’s repeated glance towards Bucky's face, his paradise in the glow of the dashboard light, “You okay?”  
  
Studying his bounty, food plates balanced precarious on knees pressed together close, Bucky breathing a sigh before his answer, “You owe me, you know. Six nights at a minimum, raucous topping, Stevie. Raucous. Catering to my every, and I mean every, need.”  
  
Steve’s gaze shifting to the road. Headlights jigging with every bump, tires roll, soothing rhythmic sounds as he stepped harder on the gas, speeding them towards home. A spreading grateful grin.  
  
  
Tony’s party wrapping up, the sun spilling red-orange light into the rooms of the Avengers Facility. Rocket sleeping it off curled nose to butt in the hollowed out faux-log that looked pretty close to the real deal in the third-floor walk-in terrarium.  
  
Stark finding him when he noticed the twitching of a tail as he followed the not melodious sounds of deep-snoring. Tony making sure to turn on video surveillance before he tip-toed away, not so much for safety as it was for the future blackmail potential.  
  
Ultimately, the whole event a tale to be recounted with a well-monitored flask of Asgardian ale --- at a much later date.  


<3<3<3

Three days later Bucky calls Rocket.

  
Sunlight warming furry skin, generous goop of zinc oxide unabashedly smeared on the black of his nose. Rocket floating blissful cradled on the back of an over-sized float remotely reminiscent of a unicorn, rainbow mane and tail for good measure. ClubMed proving opportunistically resilient in the Era of Post-Snap Reversal.  
  
Discreet pinging insistent message on the phone strapped to his wrist, Rocket peering over the Steampunk sunglasses swiped from Stark’s house to peek at the name of the caller. “Steve Rogers," appearing on the ID. Fleeting seconds of hesitation before growling “Accept.” The image Skyping large, inches from his face, not the Steve Rogers he was expecting but his annoying companion masquerading.  
  
Dark hair hanging long spilling around stern features, Bucky not smiling, no greetings or words of forgiveness. Hard stare sending a shiver well hidden by the float, as it chased down Rocket’s modified spine.  
  
Bucky’s go-to overly dramatic presentation of a tiny item waved purposeful before Rocket’s virtual gaze. A thumb’s caress of the small plastic rectangular tube, a metal middle finger highlighting each distinct millimeter in a top to bottom to top display. A Vanna White moment lost in translation, two souls not yet privy to the wonders of The Wheel of Fortune --- Not yet anyway.  
  
Bucky allowing the faintest of smirks as he slow turned the trinket for a three-sixty tour; a not entirely realistic facsimile of Rocket’s likeness carved in plastic sitting atop a bright orange tube.  
  
Gray eyes squinting his challenge. The poorly painted likeness held precariously close to Bucky’s teeth, metal thumb coy tinkering with the garish Rocket head, firm wiggle to demonstrate it’s fragility.  
  
Quick flip to almost, not quite raise the head from the orange tubed body, letting it drop back into place with an audible click. His thumb repeating the move. Faster and faster. Open and close. Bucky purposeful toying with the Rocket Pez Dispenser, surrogate taunting. Dragging it out.  
  
Ceremonious final flip of the head wide open, a near decapitation, a tiny orange-colored rectangular candy peeking out. Bucky darting closer, his face filling the screen, Rocket jerking back reactive, a regrettable body jump, made worse with the clenching of his claws to poke holes in the unicorn's butt.  
  
Bucky wiggling his tongue in a way that kinda turned Steve on, persuading the candy from the plastic Rocket maw. Purposeful flip of the sweetness, Shakespearean chewing, all while staring icy Winter cold at the lip-curling, snarling image of Rocket staring right back.  
  
Nine packets of candy later: Bucky leaving the tenth one because, well, ten --- not divisible by three. A nod to his OCD. The errant candy packet tucked deep in Steve’s sock drawer where all excess items went, similar to the infamous sock laundry black hole only reverse. Except Steve found all of it. Sock searching made intriguing, never knowing quite what he’d find. Mostly not dead.  
  
Methodical eating one Pez at a time, Bucky working his way through all of the various high fructose imbued flavors. A mouth-open, scrunchy-face, tongue-sticking-out review of the lemony tidbit, a universally understood cue to convince Steve to pluck it from his mouth.  
  
Steve proving that his good boyfriend genes go deep, scraped it off with a bare finger.  
  
Neutral voting on the strawberry and raspberry, Bucky being unable to tell the difference.  
  
Orange winning the day, getting the final coveted metal thumb’s up.  
  
Steve accidentally on purpose cutting the video feed when Bucky began to rip the head off the Pez dispenser with his teeth. “Alrighty then. I think he got your point.” The fading image on the phone: Rocket’s awkwardly shriveling unicorn, a zinc-tipped snout poking out surrounded by floppy white plastic, and rainbows.  
  
Deep sigh of satisfaction, Bucky wiggling his ass settling snugly deeper, straddling Steve’s lap, knees tight wrapped to his hips. Bare skin to bare skin. Arms claiming Steve’s body, hard jostling hold waiting for Steve’s more than willing whispered concession, “You got me, can’t escape you. Never let me go.”  
  
Bucky nuzzling face to neck, mouth grazing Steve’s ear, fingers rough caress of a beard.

Skin brushing rhythmic, each rise and fall of their breaths. Steve conscious matching, long and deep; not wanting to miss one split second, not one gentle press of his body weight and warmth. Holding him close, nearly lost for the longest of forever.

 

<3<3<3

 

 

“Your hand dropped.” Bucky’s words hard to understand when first mumbled wet and hot against Steve’s neck.  
  
“What? Oh, right, sorry.” Hand jerking up from the bed, Steve reapplying one finger to the button on a bright blue with red and white stripes around the middle, half man-figure-toy-candy dispenser-fan. With a light. Behind the fan. In front of the shield.

 Steve’s renewed efforts directing a fairly decent breeze, soothing coolness across the back of Bucky’s neck. Long dark hair piled in the unkempt bun that Steve rewarded with a sly smile and open adoration.  
  
Full-on blush of red crossing Steve's cheeks as he aimed the fair-and-square obtained embarrassing prize, a Captain America thingy, not at all reminiscent of himself in his own humble opinion. The toy/fan/lighted candy dispenser looking scary for none of the right reasons. Access to the candy part torn off, of course, since neither of them could figure out how to open it, Bucky took a knife to it. A cheap knife, not one of the good ones. Duh.

   
Getting Bucky back spawning a close-guarded resolution: Never say no to anything he wanted. Steve’s purposeful losing of the after-party payback negotiations well beyond the six nights of raucous topping resulting in fifteen whole minutes unencumbered by “Parental-Control Steve” no limit on the credit card, free package delivery AND free opening without supervision.

Bucky thought he was getting a bit of a hard-on just perusing the candy pages never mind the sex toys.  The laptop screen glowing bright white, Bucky’s eyes wide, a grin reminiscent of the time they snuck into the burlesque show in 1934 and stuck their heads under the curtain to the ladies (yes –-- ladies) dressing room. Needless to say, Steve was more than a little surprised to find that Amazon sold sex toys.

 

The battery beginning to run down on the fan/candy dispenser/roaring CAP in a fighting pose kind of thingy toy not really sure what the hell it is except Bucky’s eyes got big and bright and child-like when he dumped his Amazon purchases on the bed and the cherished item tumbled out. Steve holding his thoughts close, not wanting to scare away that look, the smile he'd lost more than once; silent words still intense, "Anything to see you smile."

 Steve's arm finally dropping as the fan sputtered to a pathetic stop. The multicolored lights, totally inappropriately attached to the Cap shield dulled their festive glow as the double A battery gave out; perfect timing. Bucky’s body relaxing, sleep breathing distinct, long-held tension giving way to the safety of Steve’s arms.

Trapped willing and with great satisfaction under Bucky’s body, Steve searching the bed for other Amazonian purchases. A pink and white heart shaped box within a stretching arm’s reach.

Seeking a tiny bit of sugar sustenance, popping a milk chocolate bauble in his mouth only to discover it was missing its middle. A venture to try another; same deal. No middle. Third candy close examination. No metal imprinted dents, no signs of alteration, third try is the charm: A hollow shell of its former self, an empty milk chocolate vessel. “How the hell did he do that?” Whispered mutter of awe and appreciation for Bucky’s outstanding covert skills of deception.  
  
Steve eating three more empty shells, varied shapes, and sizes, leaving the dark chocolate morsels, not wanting to risk Bucky’s pout. Final melty chocolate-fingered exam of a square piece advertised as caramel filled. Extreme close inspection revealing a thin nearly imperceptible line around the base, the bottom removed and stuck back together with moisture. Steve picturing Bucky’s tongue, languid lick of enjoyment serving the dual purpose of clearing out the sticky stuffing while applying the wet glue to nestle top to bottom. Sealing his deception.

 

Sun setting taking the light in the room, Steve gazing down cherished skin, fingers toying with loving marks left by his mouth. Dark and raised, hearing Bucky’s breath pulled in, soft rasping approval.

Gentle caress of long dark hair, snagged by aberrant stickiness, Steve careful picking out the discarded colorful partly eaten Pez candies. Misplaced lemons, deemed too disgusting to finish, sure he had disposed of them somewhere other than in Bucky’s hair. One plastered dried on his cheek.   
  
Steve holding back the laughter, true to human nature, the harder he tried, the more it wanted to break free. Heart full, cherishing this moment. Almost lost, almost never happening.  
  
Bucky drifted off to sleep sprawled on Steve’s chest, teeth clenching the lobe of his ear just in case he tried to wiggle out from under him. Steve more than willing to be tight held in the arms of his home.

 

                                                                                                        See...looks nothin' like Steve! 


End file.
